


She Leaves

by Fandomcraziness22



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-10-08 01:41:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17377139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fandomcraziness22/pseuds/Fandomcraziness22
Summary: A look into Bellamy's head as Clarke leaves after Mt. Weather, with a little bit of mentions of future seasons.





	She Leaves

He can see something’s wrong. Her nod to Monty, whose gaze meets Bellamy, then flicks away. He heads to her, ready to say anything. He starts off with hope.

“I think we deserve a drink.” He refuses to look at her, to see the decision in her eyes.

“Have one for me.” Her denial shakes him, no matter how much he wished it didn’t. He takes a second to collect himself.

“Hey. We can get through this.” His voice stays soft, trying to make her see his reasoning. See how much he needs her, how much they can heal. He’s healed so much already, being on the ground, and though there’s lots of pain left, he knows he can’t do it without her.

She breaks his heart with her next words. “I’m not going in.”

His heart stutters, and he searches for words to show her how he can help. He settles on something that is important to both of them. The words that truly changed their relationship, from enemies to cooperation, coleadership, friends. 

“If you need forgiveness,” he turns to her. Pleads for her to see the importance.

“I’ll give that to you.” He pauses, lets her take it in. “You’re forgiven,” he finishes, driving his point home. Hoping she remembers how she gave him the ability to keep going with these same words.

She turns to him and destroys his hope. “Take care of them for me.” Giving him control of the remaining 47. Reminding him of his responsibility. The passing of the torch. 

“Clarke…” he starts, not able to see how he can do it without her. 

She cuts him off. “Seeing their faces every day, is just going to remind me of what I did to get them here.”

“What we did,” he counters quickly. He was just as much responsible for those deaths as she was. “You don’t have to do this alone,” he tells her. He wishes he could voice his other thoughts. ‘I can’t do this alone.’ ‘I am as guilty as you are.’ ‘I need you here.’ They stick in his throat.

She finally answers. “I bear it, so they don’t have to,” echoing Dante’s words of leadership. Words that carry the weight of thousands, of a hundred teenagers.  
He can tell the battle is lost. She’s convinced she needs to do this by herself. His face drops, tears beginning to gather in his eyes. He resigns himself to a lonely future.

“Where are you going to go?” He doubts she knows, but he’s desperate to stay with her, to prolong the conversation, even for a few minutes more.

“I don’t know,” Clarke says. He can see her eyes filling, and the only thing stopping his tears right now is his resolve to be strong for her.

She kisses his cheek, lingering a second longer than necessary. He wraps his arms around her, and she presses her head into his neck.

“May we meet again,” she says, her voice broken. He clutches her, strokes her hair once. Knowing this could be the last time he will ever do this.

She lets go, and he lets her. She nods once, turns to the forest, and walks away. He can’t make himself watch, so he turns back to the camp, feeling broken. “May we meet again,” he whispers, his voice as broken as hers had been. 

Neither leader turns around: they march on into the unknown, both dealing with the pain in different ways.

He doesn’t know he’ll leave her someday, and do so many unthinkable things for her. She doesn’t know how much more destruction will follow her, how many unthinkable things she’ll do for him. 

For now, they are two people entwined in ways they don’t even understand yet, going into their futures. Hoping for forgiveness, yearning for a life after their pain.


End file.
